Righteous Indignation
by Void Character
Summary: A deal of desperation, a tragic loss, a path paved. Everything has been written: Neville Longbottom's timely ascent as the Wizarding World's most eligible bachelor, as well as Harry Potter's descent into infamy. NL/LL. A new journey, beginning with year 6.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Through the dense fog, Albus Dumbledore could tell that the sun was very nearly down. He brought his scarf once more around his neck as he made his journey through what was shaping to be a cold twilight.

Dumbledore checked his watch again. He had only a few more minutes.

However, that was not his worry. He knew how long it would take to arrive. He knew exactly where he was going.

He stopped to collect himself, leaning his weight fully against a tree. He breathed in, eyes closed.

He had to trust his judgment. He had to be confident that he was doing the right thing. Otherwise, he would never be able to push through.

He used his powerful Occlumency skills to clear his mind, storing any worries and troubles he had for later. One deep breath in, and he switched his persona on.

Eyes sparkling, mouth a wide grin. He hummed to the heavens a melody which birds would chirp too, were there any. He cheerfully laid one foot in front of the other, making one of the few treks novel to him.

Finally, as he made his way, the trees around him began thinning. He heard the sounds of gushing water.

At that moment, the shabby workings of a very old bridge came into sight, directly above a vicious river that had the energy and wild will of a young rabbit.

This was where it began, the legend of the three brothers. This foggy, desolate space would soon spring a new legend.

He walked up to the bridge, fascinated by the historical significance of the forgotten relic. My, it had taken him more than a few weeks to pinpoint its location. Scouring history books and documents, uncovering when and where Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus lived, and where they were likely headed when they encountered _Him_.

Dumbledore stood patiently, waiting. He passed his time with a challenge, curious how many words he could think of rhyming with heberdenia, a plant he had spotted along his journey.

He knew he would not be waiting for too long.

Just on time, a misty form materialized in front of Dumbledore's eyes. The sun was entirely down now, and only the diffused light from it as well as the glowing full moon above granted Dumbledore vision of it.

It stood tall like the willow trees around it, gazing down at him patiently. It was wrapped in a long black cloak with many ripples and tears, and carried an odor of burning flesh. The figure did not move. The hood was slightly declined, queueing Albus to the fact that it was watching him.

"Good evening." Dumbledore nodded respectfully. He had a feeling that, were there a face encompassed by that black hood, it would be smirking.

"I suppose the proper question for you would be _do we have a deal_? But seeing as this is our first encounter, I'll begin by introducing myself. My name is Albus," he said. "How do you wish to be called? Yanluo? Supay?"

"You may call me Venerable One, Albus." Its voice was raspy, though deep. Albus felt privileged to hear it.

"Venerable One, I appreciate your time. Frankly, I am aghast that we have not met sooner after all the lemon drops I have eaten over these long years."

The figure was stoic, making no acknowledgment of Albus's joke. Albus continued into the crux of the meeting. He was there for a reason and he understood the value of this being's time.

"It has come to my attention that Lord Voldemort has acquired a weapon that may destroy our efforts to resist him. I come before you in desperation. I do hope that the two of us have a common enemy in him."

The figure spoke.

"I have no enemies, Albus Dumbledore. It is not my place to meddle in the affairs of humans."

Albus's eyes showed his defiance. He would not give up so easily.

"This common foe of ours has escaped your clutches through artificial means –"

The figure cut him off.

"This foe floods me with souls daily. Why would I help you destroy him?"

Dumbledore stared unblinkingly at the figure so much taller than himself. He smiled confidently. Despite the biting remarks, Albus pretended he was talking with a warm, close friend.

"Because the way of life he seeks is unsustainable. He would see it that all Muggles and Muggleborns die, and pureblood wizards become the majority. However, our numbers are not large enough to maintain life. We will die out. And you will be out of a job."

The figure did not move. In fact, the only evidence to it not being a statue was the slight rippling of its robes caused by the cool breeze.

"Do not pretend you know anything about me. Whether I care about the demise of the human race, or if I enjoy my job is none of your concern. But we are here to talk business, and luckily for you I am prepared to make a deal."

"As I had hoped," said Dumbledore. He brought from his purple gown a cloak of invisibility. He unraveled it and there, in its center, lay a stone and a wand.

The cloaked figure laughed at the offer.

"What makes you think I am interested in these? Or that I would wish to remove them from the mortal world? Do you know how many souls I receive from dimwits in search of these trinkets?"

Dumbledore mentally grimaced. It had been worth a try.

"Then how would you like to be repaid for your services?" asked Albus earnestly. His smile was unnoticeably forced.

The cloaked figure stood quiet for a moment, as if calculating and scanning for an edge to trick Albus twenty moves down the road.

"I require five honest souls in exchange for my help."

Albus noticeably paled. The truly wicked traits of the figure before him finally came to light. His persona was switching off and his Occlumency shields were being tried with emotion.

It was clear to Albus that this _Venerable One_ had no use for these souls amidst a flood of so many daily. He just wanted to part Albus of something, the grief of which might even shorten his life. Maybe this figure was looking forward to their next exchange premature. Dumbledore made another offer.

"Take me. I offer myself in exchange."

Death laughed.

"Why would I want you, Albus Dumbledore. No, no. I'll have you any day now. You are aging and your dismal offers show for it. I require five honest souls. Additionally, I do not require the cloak of invisibility. I require the human whose trunk you stole it from last night."

Dumbledore's eyes glinted with emotion that his face did not show. He looked down. Going in, he knew it might come to this. He was willing to offer the Deathly Hallows in a heartbeat, even his own life. It was his sincerest hope that one of these might interest this being. He was also aware of the possibility that _He_ may require what meant most to Dumbledore: the sacrificial lamb, the young man he loved so dearly. It was a price for the mere sake of setting a price.

Tears sparkled in Albus's eyes.

He had to accept. Too much was at stake. Where did six lives stand against millions?

Sourly, Dumbledore wondered what people would think about him in a thousand years. Would they applaud his action? Or would his name become a taboo? And if things did not go as planned, would he become the fool who thought he was cleverer than Death? He thought he could make a deal with Death, but in the end Death tricked him. He had not learned from Beedle's tales when he was a child.

But he had to do what he thought was right, regardless of what others might think or how he would be remembered.

Albus found no need to hide it. The tears fell freely and his age engulfed him. He summoned a stick to lean heavily on, looking back up at the haughty figure.

"One more thing," Death added. The grin Dumbledore imagined within the hood was from ear to ear.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Neville stood silently in the center of his garden, completely content with having fulfilled his unluckiness quota for the day. Today he had received back his O.W.L. results, and the mental damage that had done assured him nothing else could afflict him that day whatsoever.

The sun was at its zenith in the sky and a few of the herbs around him bore the fruity scent of summer. Neville was bent over one of his less favorite plants, however, his newly added Fanged Geranium. This particular plant mirrored Neville's hatred for it tenfold, often snarling and growling at him with the ferocity of a lion, despite its stature as a small flower.

Neville took a pinch of weeds and sprinkled them into the hole at the flower's center, where sharp white fangs angrily shredding them.

The plant snarled, assuring Neville that it would much rather partake in more carnivorous treats, such as Neville's head, which it had already made attempt on several times before. As a matter of fact, Neville noticed that almost all of his plants had tried to kill him at least once, the only exception being his Lothlorien Yucca plant. Top Herbologists agreed that the Lothlorien had the capability of reading minds, despite being incapable of any sort of movement. Neville was certain the Lothlorien had plotted Neville's death many times over, hatefully and skillfully watching him with the agenda of a trained assassin.

Neville's mind, however, journeyed far from his collection of exotic plants, and traveled dizzily to the envelope inside on the kitchen counter. The contents held his future, his O.W.L. scores. After seeing his scores and crying for a few minutes, the realization came to him that he would have to share them with Gran. He could see it already. A particularly long, _Why can't you be more like your father was _speech would be followed by Gran silently wishing that Neville was good for a single thing. After she contemplated this over a long interval, she would send him on his way. He would then proceed outside and probably feed himself to the Fanged Geranium.

Neville bobbed his head dejectedly.

To Neville's memory, Gran had never shown appreciation for him. The day she discovered he was not a Squib she was more filled with relief than pride. She had told him that he may one day finally resemble, in a diluted form, the son of Alice and Frank Longbottom, both distinguished Aurors. Neville did not get his hopes up.

Neville was disturbed from his thoughts by an unexpected, familiar voice.

"Mr. Longbottom? What a happy coincidence," said the voice. When Neville began to turn, the Geranium saw an opening. It cavorted into the air as far as its stem would allow and attempted a snap at Neville's leg.

Neville, used to the rowdy plant, gracelessly hurdled over it, suppressing a shocked whimper. There, standing behind him, was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore. He sported an amused smile, his eyes sparkling with life.

"Professor Dumbledore!" said Neville in awe. "What are you doing here?" The Geranium below him continued to bark its disapproval of Neville's existence. Neville straightened his shirt, embarrassed.

"Hello Neville. This is quite the impressive collection of plants you have gathered. I must say, there are a few I don't recognize," said Dumbledore.

Dumbledore leaned in towards Neville.

"That Lothlorien Yucca there really does not like you," he finished in a whisper.

Neville's cheeks reddened. He knew it. Neville's love for plants went entirely one way.

"Did you have any plans for this collection?" Dumbledore asked with genuine interest.

Neville looked around him with a nervous smile. He had never shared his plans for the yard with anyone. When Neville asked Gran whether he could begin a garden, she just set boundaries and told him in a bored voice to go for it.

"It is going to be a forest, filled with every magical plant I can grow."

Dumbledore looked around in interest. Neville could tell he was imagining thick tropical woods with every magical plant known to wizard-kind, filled to the brim with a slew of mystical creatures who only feed on the rarest of herbs.

"What an admirable use of time, the creation of life," said Dumbledore, eyes sparkling. Neville couldn't control his smile. He valued Dumbledore's opinion a lot, and hearing this from him nearly brought tears to Neville's eyes.

Dumbledore exhaled lightly. He brought his wand from his pocket and materialized a bench to oversee Neville's collage of exotic plants.

"Please, sit with me Neville. There is something I would like to discuss," said Dumbledore, relaxing into the seat.

Neville walked over.

"Is it something Gran should hear too?" said Neville.

"I have an offer. I would like you to decide of your own will whether to accept, and Aurora should have nothing to do with that."

Dumbledore waited patiently for Neville to sit next to him. Neville did not know what to expect. Dumbledore had only spoken with him in passing, never for long. Neville was a nobody, a magnet for disaster. And yet, here Albus Dumbledore sat in his garden, offering words only meant for Neville's ears. Neville did not know whether to be worried or excited.

"I am happy to inform you, Neville, that you have been accepted as Dueling Apprentice at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Neville had never heard of that title before.

"Err, what? I don't recall applying for anything," said Neville. "Though, Gran is always reminding me I have the memory of a garden gnome." Neville laughed awkwardly.

"Dueling Apprentice is not a position one applies for. It is a position given to honor a particular student, chosen by a simple majority of our staff. We chose you, Neville."

"M-me?" said Neville. If the words were not coming from Albus Dumbledore himself, Neville would have thought them ridiculous. There were so many better students than him, better duelists. In fact, he had trouble naming one student who couldn't wipe the floor with him.

"Yes, Neville. I decided this year to bring a few old traditions back, among them, Hogwart's Dueling Apprentice. The decision among the staff was very nearly unanimous."

Neville mentally laughed at the idea of Snape ever voting eagerly to present him with any kind of honor.

"You do not seem happy with this offer, Neville," said Dumbledore, looking at Neville with a keen eye. "May I ask why?"

Neville, realizing how silent he had been, spoke up.

"I just don't feel like I deserve it, Headmaster," said Neville quietly. "There are other students loads better at dueling than I am."

"Very noble, Neville, as always. I imagine when my staff voted, they looked past bare capability. In my own opinion, I feel that there are few I would trust more with the skills we would like to give you. So many wizards and witches your age would become pompous granted such a position. Besides, I feel there is much we can teach you."

Finally, it made sense to Neville. It was perhaps his lack of ability which had granted him the offer. That was the only way it could make any sense.

"What would be expected of me?" said Neville.

"In the old days, you would have been a keeper of the school, charged with the protection of Hogwarts. However, we are not maintaining all olden traditions. There may be a few minor favors I will ask of you much later, that is, if you are satisfied with your newfound knowledge. We offer you this position for your benefit rather than our own."

Neville grimaced. His concern was plain on his face. It was clear he doubted any potential they saw in him. If word of this got to the Slytherins, he would quickly become a laughing stock.

Dumbledore looked at Neville seriously.

"I agree completely with my staff's decision Neville. The only remaining question is do you accept? And this I will leave you to ponder on your own. If you have any remaining questions, send me an owl. I would appreciate your decision by the night you arrive at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore put his hand on Neville's shoulder.

"Either way, Neville, be at ease and enjoy the rest of your summer. Good times are always on the way."

There was a quiet swooshing sound and Dumbledore's hand was not on his shoulder anymore. Dumbledore was absent his side too. No doubt he had Apparated towards more pressing matters, matters that had nothing to do with boring Neville Longbottom.

"Neville!" said Gran's voice.

Neville's confusion turned into dread. Apparently she had found the envelope.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Neville painstakingly made his way to the kitchen. He decided he would play dumb, like he hadn't already seen his scores and did not know what she was mad about. She was swigging her tea, which hinted Neville to the fact that it had a spot of Bourbon in it. When Neville walked in, she finished chugging it, and turned it upside down on the table with a _clank_.

She walked up to Neville, looking down on his curious eyes. Neville had never seen this look from her. It looked almost sympathetic.

Could she really be upset beyond words with him? She always had something to say. Was she giving up on him?

"Gran?" was all Neville could manage.

She diverted her eyes from his and pressed the Daily Prophet into his hand. After gently patting his back, she left the room without a word.

Neville flipped the Prophet to its cover and read the headlines. His eyes widened.

_Massacre at the Weasley Home: Five Dead_

Neville stared blankly at the title for a full five seconds before his stomach plummeted. His day had just gotten a whole lot worse.


End file.
